


How to Strip for Your Wife, Vol. 1

by HouseofTheBear



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Erotica, F/M, Limousines, Making Out, Oral Sex, Passionate Sex, sexy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-14 18:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofTheBear/pseuds/HouseofTheBear
Summary: A colleague lets slip a secret from Jorah's past, one that leads to a private "dance" performance Daenerys will never forget.





	How to Strip for Your Wife, Vol. 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm sure you've all seen the scintillating 'Bruce Wayne dancing the Batusi' clip from Titans. Wellll, the plot bunnies in my brain got ahold of it and it morphed into this flash-forward scene from my fic "Blurring the Lines". Tipsy!Jorah is an uninhibited Jorah and Daenerys reaps the benefits ;)
> 
> A huge thank you to @chryssadirewolf on Tumblr for the amazing moodboard below. And a special thank you to my partner in writing clarasimone, who gently encourages, reads (and re-reads) my WIPs, and in general, makes me laugh at least once every day.

“I'd like to make a toast,” Jorah says, standing. “Everyone here, as well as those who couldn't be, I want to thank you all for your hard work and dedication to seeing this deal through. I may own this company, but you make it shine.” He raises his glass to a hearty 'here, here' from several colleagues and sips his champagne. “Now enjoy the party. You've earned it!”

Several people slide out of the half-round booth to make their way downstairs, the club's loud music beckoning those who want to dance. Daenerys usually joins them for a short while, eventually returning to drag Jorah with her. He only fakes that he doesn't want to go, just because then Daenerys makes the most irresistible little pout and he can’t deny her. She caught on to his game a while ago, but still plays along. Now, she seems perfectly content sitting and talking to the remaining coworkers, her sweet laugh making Jorah smile. He feels good tonight, loose and unstressed. That's mostly because the deal is over, but also because he's had a few drinks. He's not drunk, he knows what that feels like and he doesn't want to revisit those few experiences.

And apparently Daenerys is a bit tipsy too. She’s just as relaxed as he is, maybe a bit more so. She’s only had two cocktails, but that's just enough given her petite stature. They have had quite a few hors d’oeuvres over the course of the evening, but it doesn't appear to have counteracted the effects of the alcohol very much. Jorah takes another sip of his champagne and looks over at Daenerys, stunning as always for these get-togethers. A simple fit and flare cocktail dress in deep cranberry, setting off her half-up silver hair and porcelain skin to perfection. Around her neck, a delicate pearl necklace, and on her left hand, his mother's ring. His heart swells, recognizing not for the first time that he's the luckiest man in the world. She walked down the aisle to him not five months ago and it's been amazing ever since. Of course, they've had their rows, every couple does, but their love for one another is steadfast, running deep and strong.

He can’t keep his eyes off her and she seems to feel it. She turns to look at him and he swears his heart skips. Her cheeks are a bit flushed, her eyes bright with an infectious grin. She mouths _I love you_, winks and turns back as Robert gets her attention again. With a pleased sigh, he drains the last bit of bubbly from the flute and announces he's going to the bar and asks if anyone wants anything. Robert asks for another whiskey neat, but no one else puts in an order, so he leaves.

“I'm surprised Jorah chose this place for our party,” Robert remarks.

“Oh, I think he's trying to please both the younger and older employees. This place seems to be a perfect balance.”

“I agree. Years ago, before you arrived, things were quite different.”

“Oh?” Daenerys is intrigued. She knows a bit about the company before her employ, but not the after-hours _activities_.

“The parties were a bit..._wilder_ then.”

Daenerys frowns. “_Wilder_?”

Robert nods, swirling the contents of his tumbler. “Many of the employees were young men and Jorah wasn't in charge of choosing the venue.” Robert notices her surprise, “Don’t worry, my dear, Jorah is the same man he's always been. He would sit at the table, back to the stage, have one or two drinks, and leave early. He never got involved with what the other men got up to.”

Daenerys sighs internally. Of course, he was always a good man. She knows that, but for a brief moment, she had a vision of a seedy bar and scantily clad women gyrating for money. She shakes her head, clearing it away. “So they were strip clubs?”

“Oh no, nothing that sleazy. More like burlesque.”

“Oh, well, that's more..._tasteful_ I suppose.”

Robert chuckles into his glass, swallowing his sip before continuing, “Trust me, Jorah never did anything.” He pauses, shifting nervously, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

“Robert?” Hers narrow suspiciously, “what aren't you telling me?”

He curses under his breath, sets down his now-empty tumbler and turns to her. “Gods, don’t shoot the messenger on this, but,” he licks his lips and scuffs his fingers over his graying beard, “this happened a few years before Jorah ever met you.”

She hadn't even realized it, but her teeth must have been chewing her bottom lip for a while now because it's starting to ache. She sets it free. “Go on.”

“It had been a really difficult negotiation, the first big one after everything that happened. Anyway,” he waves his hand, “everyone went out to celebrate and...Jorah got drunk. I've only ever seen him that way that one time in all the 15 years I've known him. While the other men were off doing _whatever_, Jorah climbed on stage with these two ladies and...danced.”

Daenerys blinks a few times, then bursts into a fit of laughter so long and hard her sides are aching when she finally stops with a heavy sigh. Robert's face is a mask of confusion at her reaction, muttering, “Well, I didn’t expect that.”

“I thought you were going to tell me Jorah did something he shouldn't have,” she replies, still softly laughing. She pats his hand, “What I wouldn't give to see a video of that.”

Robert looks away, “I wonder where Jorah's disappeared to. I think I'll go—”

“You have a video, don’t you?” She knows this man too well, his flustered demeanor giving him away. He nods, resigned. “I wanna see it.”

He hesitates, then shrugs, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a rather old model iPhone. He swipes and taps for a few moments, then looks at her out of the corner of his eyes, “Jorah's gonna have my arse.”

“Robert, he'll do nothing of the sort,” she says reassuringly. Next to her on the leather seat, her clutch vibrates, alerting her to his sent message. “I'll make sure of it.” He smiles halfheartedly. “One question: why do you still have it? I know you would never do anything with it to hurt Jorah, I'm just curious.”

“We joke about it now and again. Well, _I_ joke about it, he just glowers.”

_That's my Jorah_, she thinks. And speaking of her devastatingly handsome husband, he's walking toward them, his hands filled with drinks. They lock eyes, his smiling back at hers. _My sweet bear, I can't wait to ask you about that video._

***

Around midnight, Jorah and Daenerys decide they’ve had enough dancing and celebrating and they bid everyone farewell. Now is her chance. As Jorah contacts their driver for the evening, Daenerys opens the message Robert had sent her. There is no sound and the camera work is wobbly and out of focus at first. Soon, it clears, steadies, and _oh my_. Her jaw drops, her eyes lifting to check if Jorah is returning. Still alone, she goes back to the video. Her hand shoots up to her mouth to stifle her laugh, Jorah’s movements at first adorably goofy. But then, his hips start moving and **_oh my gods!_** The world narrows to her mobile, all she sees is Jorah dancing in a way she has never seen before. Well, that isn’t entirely true, because he has rolled his hips like that making love to her several times. A familiar twinge tightens low in her belly, echoing with a spasm between her legs. And that is the moment she knows she’ll get Jorah to dance for her like that no matter what it takes.

“The driver’s just pulling ‘round, love,” he announces, making her jump.

She hastily shoves her mobile into her clutch just as Jorah’s arms wind around her from behind, his lips finding the delicate patch of skin just behind her ear. She leans back into his embrace, relishing the warmth he exudes.

"Watching something naughty, Daenerys,” he teases, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, making goosebumps rise along her entire right side.

“What makes you think that?” _Caught_! She cringes at how nervous she sounds.

His chuckle rumbles against her back, the tip of his tongue tracing her lobe, “Oh love, I know how you look when you’re aroused. Cheeks flushed, one-half of those kissable lips trapped between your teeth, your breathing a bit hurried. Tell me what you were watching…and I’ll do it for you later.”

She gasps, the twinge in her sex now a full-on throb. “I--I don’t know what you—”

“_Come_ on now, love,” his rich, deep voice hitting all the right cords in her body, “Are you going to make me reach inside your clutch and take out your mobile to see for myself?”

But Jorah doesn’t get the chance, the limousine pulling up, interrupting Jorah’s verbal seduction. He unwraps his arms and Daenerys nearly whines at the loss of contact. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for her, patting her bottom as he climbs in after her. Daenerys shoots him a look of mock offense, but the laughter in her eyes gives her away. Jorah’s just playing and she doesn’t mind. Once they’re settled, the driver pulls out onto the street and heads to their home. It’s then that Daenerys puts her plan into action.

“Jorah, when were you going to tell me about this,” Daenerys asks casually, showing him her mobile.

It takes Jorah's tipsy brain a moment to figure out what he's looking at, but she knows the moment he does because his eyes go comically wide, “Daenerys, love, I can explain.”

She laughs softly, “Oh my bear, you will. But not now.”

“I thought you'd be upset I didn’t tell you.”

Daenerys slides closer, her hand coming to rest near his groin, “Not for the reason you might think.”

Jorah is still adorably confused, though Daenerys sees the recognizable flicker of desire beginning to light her love's azure eyes. Turning to him, she tilts her head up, her lips a breath from his own, “I want you to dance for me when we get home, Jorah.”

A slow, sultry blink of her eyelids, a growl from low in his chest, and then Jorah pounces, his hand burying itself in her silky tresses, his arm around her waist pulling her onto his lap for a devouring kiss. She whimpers as his tongue tangles with hers, her hands fisting his suit jacket to draw him down on top of her across the limo's large backseat. Jorah's eyes open briefly, checking to make sure the tinted partition is up, shielding them from the driver's prying eyes.

Daenerys loves when Jorah's slightly buzzed, his touch more urgent, his kisses drugging and needy. He's also less inhibited and she plans to use it to her advantage. But thought becomes nearly impossible as his hands push the flowing skirt of her dress up to pool at her hips. He's caressing her thighs, making his way to where she longs for his touch.

She moans wantonly into his mouth as his fingers dip under the lacy fabric of her skimpy panties, slipping through her slickness to her throbbing clit. “I love when you're this wet for me, Sweetheart,” he purrs, “Gods, I need to taste you.”

He drops to his knees on the carpeted floorboard and drags her panties off, tucking them in his jacket pocket. Daenerys can’t help how her legs spread, desperate for the magic of his mouth. But she won’t get what she needs right then, a voice cutting in. “Mister and Missus Mormont, we've arrived.”

Neither had felt the limousine stop moving, but now it's a giggling, mad rush to make themselves look presentable before the driver opens the back door. Jorah's hair is mussed and so is hers, but there isn't much they can do. Luckily, the evening had been windy, so they had an excuse. But there isn't one for the red lace half-hanging out of his jacket pocket. If their driver had noticed, he is polite enough not to mention it. They thank him and quickly make their way inside. With the door closed and locked, Daenerys turns to Jorah, “Now, how about that dance?”

He smiles, “Wait here five minutes, then join me in the sitting room.”

Daenerys wants to pout, but Jorah's flirty wink, combined with the notion that he is likely going to set the perfect mood, keeps her waiting. He's always so good about creating the right atmosphere, with candles or dimmed lighting, soft music, and sometimes a little wine. But they don't need that now. More wine would only make her drunk and she doesn't want that. It'll keep her from fully enjoying the show and _that_ would be a terrible travesty.

“All right, love,” Jorah calls, the five minutes having passed very quickly.

Stepping out of her heels, Daenerys' heart races in her chest, anticipation and lingering arousal making her skin tingle. _Maybe that's just the alcohol_, she wonders, but she knows better. Jorah has the most amazing effect on her body, even when he’s not touching her. She gasps softly, the setting more perfect than she had expected. The leather sofa and glass coffee table have been pushed to one side, a lone chair from the dining room residing at one end of the large space he's created. And there he stands at the other, beckoning her in with one curl of his fingers, something she can't define making his blue irises seemingly spark and flicker. Like a riptide, she's drawn in, sashaying her way to the chair and taking a seat.

The dimmed lights outline his broad form perfectly, making his hair nearly golden, his skin like pale, smooth amber. The play of light and shadow gives him a nearly dangerous quality, his expertly tailored suit completing the picture. He’s removed his tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of his ginger fur. Her panties are still half-hanging from his pocket, but no longer in his jacket. They're in his trousers and he tracks her gaze downward, a nearly feral smile curling his lips. Reaching into his other pocket, he takes out the stereo remote and presses a button before tossing it onto the sofa behind him, his eyes never leaving hers.

A familiar tune fills the air and Jorah turns from her, his dance starting first in his shoulders, rolling, his hands rising to aid him as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, one shoulder at a time. He draws the garment tight across his lower back, the muscles above it shifting and bunching beneath his crisp pale blue dress shirt with each move he makes. Gods, she wants to touch him, knowing exactly how he would feel beneath her palms, her mind flooding with memories of Jorah above her, their bodies locked in an intimate dance. A _pas de deux_, a dance not only marrying the physical, but the heart and soul as well. He dips left, rolls right, his hips sadly hidden from view. With a grunt, he tosses the jacket aside and turns. Giggling, she recognizes now where the song is from, but her amusement quickly dies when he locks eyes with her and struts forward, his hands weaving his spell as his arms rise above his head. She inhales sharply, his hips moving again like before, swaying with a hypnotic grace. She already knew Jorah had rhythm, has been on the receiving end of its sensual cadence, but this..._this_ is on a completely different level. If she had money to throw at his feet, she would. _Just take my entire wallet and bank cards_, she thinks, watching his arms lower, his hands pausing at his face to do the Batman, a soft laugh sneaking past her parted lips.

Jorah's heated glance softens for an instant as he half-smiles, loving how much Daenerys, his beautiful wife, is loving, not to mention thoroughly enjoying, his dance. He would only do this for her, and perhaps the slight inebriation is helping him, but deep down he knows he would have done this for her anyway. Although, he admits to himself, it might have been more shy and hesitant had he not had a few drinks under his belt. Speaking of said article, he fingers the edge of the ebony leather slowly from one side to the other, her fevered gaze following his touch, knowing she's imagining the way he strokes her spine...traces the slight hollow where thigh meets torso...flicks the tight berries topping her creamy breasts. Her gorgeous, full lips are parted, her chest rising and falling in a way he recognizes instantly. She's aroused again. And the little shift in her seat confirms it. No doubt she's aching for stimulation, he is too, his cock half-hard in his trousers.

He starts a slow spin, his hands…_gods, what is he doing with his hands_…she can’t even describe, but her gaze is riveted there, gulping as he brushes his fingers once along the zipper of his slacks. Her breath catches, the sideways angle of the light highlighting the contours of his growing manhood pressing against the soft fabric. Then that amazing, taut arse of his comes into view, so firm she swears she could bounce a coin off it, its muscled roundness begging for a little pinch. She’s almost giddy at the idea that Jorah’s getting hard dancing for her. And he so knows it too, a smirk drawing up one corner of his sinful mouth, one ginger brow arching. His moves are sinful too, his fingers brushing again, watching how hers tighten around the lip of her chair. He goes further, daringly letting his palm skim leisurely down the entire length of his now completely hard cock, a soft grunt issuing from low in his throat as he reaches the tip, her own long, shaky exhale answering back. He knows she wants to touch him…and he wants that too. He subtly thrusts into his caresses now, Daenerys shifting restlessly in her seat. His body is undulating, shifting, smooth as water, easy like a breeze. Reaching into his pocket, he takes her panties in his hand and brings them to his nose, exaggerating his sniff of her intoxicating feminine scent, a satisfied groan joining with the music. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her pupils blown wide in her owlish eyes. They follow the lingerie as he drags it down his chest to his manhood, rubbing the lace over the length, pressing himself against his hand. Any other man doing that and it would be tawdry, but Jorah makes it sexy. He tucks the undergarment back into his pocket, and swaying back and forth, he glides closer, her hand reaching out.

He tuts at her playfully, “I thought you’re not supposed to touch the dancer.”

“That rule doesn’t apply with us, Jorah.”

He relents, not just out of her desire to touch, but his desire to be _touched_. _By her, only her_. He steps confidently forward, his body just over her knees, making her sit back in the chair. Her palms come to rest on his thighs, the muscles moving beneath the warm, soft wool. Her eyes slowing track up, stopping at his groin, the outline of his cock so obvious so close, the curve of his crown, the strong lines of his shaft, beckoning to her. His hips move in a figure eight, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. She’s surrounded by him, by his tall, lean strength, by his familiar manly scent, fresh and clean. _All Jorah, all hers_. Breathing deep, she glides upward, a resistance meeting her. He’s leaning into her touch, letting her feel his movement.

The music changes, a slow, throbbing beat, a pulsing bassline, filling her, filling him, to their very cores. But it’s not enough. It’s like they are one mind, their locked eyes communicating their need to be one, for her to bless his cock with her feminine essence and he to fill her with his potent masculine one. She slides over him, higher, palming his length, her soft sigh, _Jorah, _sends a wild noise erupting from deep within him. He can’t take any more of this slow, seductive tease. He must have her. _Now._

He leans down, slips his hands under her thighs, and lifts her from the chair, ensuring that her center rubs along his straining zipper, knowing she's left a glistening trail along the fabric. She moans and jerks against him, grinding herself against the thick hardness, trying desperately to give herself the relief her body craves.

“I'll see to you, love,” he murmurs, walking to the couch and laying her down. He settles to his knees, her legs open and waiting. He can't help but stare at her swollen folds, glistening with the sweetest honey, just for him. _Because of him_. “Gonna put my mouth on you, Sweetheart...tease your little pearl, make you come for me...All over my tongue.”

She loves when he talks like this, how it makes her whole body flush hot. It's not something he does on a regular basis and that's what makes it all the more special, makes her being respond to it, _to him_, the way it does. He lowers his head as he tucks his hands under her bottom, lifting her, closing the distance between them quicker.

“Jorah,” she moans brokenly, her body trembling with each solid flick. He doesn't waste time with subtlety, he practically _devours_ her, and that's exactly what she needs. He’s making the most decadent noises, clearly enjoying serving at her desire, nearly purring as her fingers twist in his curls and hold tight. Having been _soclose_ for so long, her pleasure crests in the most delicious, toe-curling way, her back bowing from the leather cushion, her hips grinding against his face, riding the waves of her orgasm, blessing Jorah's bearded chin with her overflowing nectar and his ears with the erotic sounds of her completion. Her legs twitch with each easing lick of his tongue, her pearl nearly unable to handle the sharp sparks of pleasure that echo in spasms deep in her sex, extending her bliss until she's begging him to stop. He rumbles his satisfaction, proud at how absolutely wrecked she looks as he gazes up from between her still trembling thighs. _Because of him_.

But then he sees the need flare in those violet depths once more, her shaky hands grasping his crisp shirt and practically dragging him from his knees. He grins devilishly at the strength of her craving, anticipating what he knows awaits him: the intensity of Daenerys’ hunger. _For him_. He finds himself seated and Daenerys in his lap, her dress up and over her head, tossed aside carelessly. Clad only in her strapless crimson brassiere, the lacy cups giving him an eyeful of her dusky little berries, so hard they're calling to him. She yanks his button and zipper open, reaches inside and frees him. But he soon finds himself imprisoned once more, her tight, wet heat surrounding him. It rips a growl from his already heaving chest, his hands gripping the supple cheeks of her bottom, lifting her rolling hips up and down his length at a pace he knows will satisfy them both.

Her own brace on his pectorals, but she huffs in frustration and rips his shirt open, buttons tinkling across the hardwood floor. She runs her palms up his flat stomach to rest on either side of his pounding heart, his skin beginning to develop a sheen of sweat to match hers. She meets his gaze, a fire raging there, stoked by the feel of her slickness coating him, the couch's frame creaking under the force of their coupling.

“Ride me, love. Ride me the way your body needs it.”

She whimpers, canting her hips a bit more, her eyes widening at the sudden rush of sweet pleasure shooting up her spine. He's hitting that spot, the one only he had found, the one that makes her honey multiply. Her moans grow huskier, her rhythm faltering as the tight coil low in her belly begins to unwind in spreading, tingling warmth.

“Baby,” she pants, “I'm...”

“Let me feel it, love...”

His growled order sends her tumbling over the edge, her hips slamming down onto his own, her head falling back as she surrenders to the blinding sensations. The room echoes with their combined moans, his fingers pressing into her bottom, holding her to him, her clutching walls milking his release from his body. She savors the warm pulses, her sex fluttering around his throbbing length.

He's beautiful in his afterglow as he slumps against the cushions, his eyes gazing back at hers, bright with love and tenderness. He swallows roughly against his dry throat, chuckling breathlessly, “I'm so glad I agreed to dance for you.”

Daenerys can't help her giggle, “I am too. What are my chances of getting you to do it again in the future,” her fingers toying with the damp fur on his chest.

“Oh, I'd say they're better than pretty good,” he answers, sitting up and threading his fingers through her disheveled tresses, guiding her to his lips for a sweet, lingering kiss.

She sighs happily when they part, “Take me to bed, my bear. I'm not finished with you yet.”

A hum of agreement accompanies his smirk, “I was hoping you'd say that.”

Her laughter rings through the air as he carries her off to their room, a night full of another type of dancing awaiting them.


End file.
